


Cruel Summer

by MlTSUBA



Category: Suicide Boy - ParkGee (Webcomic)
Genre: Depression, He doesn’t actually do anything though, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Numb Hooni, Soorim and Jaehoon are briefly referenced, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24742855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlTSUBA/pseuds/MlTSUBA
Summary: Hooni hates the emptiness of summer,but he hates the emptiness in his chest more.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Cruel Summer

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for how sad this is, I haven’t been feeling the best for a while. Needed to vent things out and what better way than to vent through my qkin lol (insert sob here). I’ll be alright, though. I’m trying. I just wanted to share because I know maybe someone out there might feel the same way. Just know you’re not alone.
> 
> Hope you all are safe and sound and doing well. Remember to take care of yourselves.  
> It’s tough out there, but you can get through it.

Here he is again, awoken to yet another day. Hooni isn’t sure how exactly he got here. After all these years of suffering and struggling, he’s not sure how he managed to make it to seventeen. 

He’s beat and bruised and quite honestly entirely broken to bits, like a once-loved fragile porcelain doll that withered and cracked with time and mistreatment. The wear and tear on him really shows. And it’s not even the good kind of worn, its nothing like being worn from tender love and care. He’s scratched up and cracking at every edge and so visibly alone and unloved. Abandoned a long, time time ago. Hell, the last time he can recall not being depressed feels like a lifetime ago. So yeah, he’s not sure how he managed to make it to here. He’s somehow still alive and just barely scraping by on his own. And while it isn’t as bad as it might been before he found friends, he still finds it hard to really see them as... Well, _his_ friends. 

Sure they’re nice and all, they care about him and they try to help and have patience, but they’re... They don’t understand. They never will. They have their own lives outside of him, and he knows that and he understands that. So he’s a little less than happy but not at all surprised to acknowledge that once he graduates this upcoming school year, he’s no longer going to have friends anymore. They have their own things in life they’re going to be busy focusing on and pursuing. Hooni’s going to rot away in his apartment all summer with these kind of thoughts; fearing the future, coping with the present, and dreading the past. It’s all he _can_ do. He doesn’t want to burden his newly found friends with his misery and hold them back from having a life they deserve. It’s not fair to them and Hooni knows it. 

He knows that deep down inside that he’s never going to be able to have that kind of opportunity like them, no matter how hard he tries. He’s not like them in the slightest. He has no other friends, no other things to lean back on and rely on and nothing to encourage or motivate him. 

_Damn,_ these thoughts are just making him feel so much more worse. 

Hooni lays sprawled out on his bed, on top of the covers and staring at the ceiling. He feels almost as pitiful as the shitty paint job he’s silently critiquing. It’s so fucking hot in his apartment, but he doesn’t make the effort to get up and move. He’s too exhausted, too _sad_. He’s also sweating pails and his skin may or may not be practically stuck to the mattress at this point. He doesn’t see a point to getting up anyway. Maybe if he lays here long enough he’ll melt away and stop existing. He deserves that at least. 

So he continues to stare holes in the ceiling until midnight, stomach growling and mind running, both never-ending. 

Forever eternal, his thoughts feel. He stares at the ceiling with an ache in his heart and and an emptiness in his chest. It all leads back to the same damn thought; He’s never enough. He’s not going to make it like everyone else will. 

It starts with the realization that it’s been too long since he’s heard from his friends, so they’re probably going to spend all summer with their cooler, better friends- Enjoying their freedom and teenage-hood before time runs out and everyone inevitably goes their own separate ways. Something of which he cannot do, himself. Everyone’s good at their own things, everyone’s got support and encouragement and a motivator, but Hooni doesn’t. He doesn’t have the skills to do anything that’ll keep him stable and on his feet. He doesn’t have support or encouragement, the only people he has in his life are going to leave him in time and there’s nothing he can do to stop it (and even had there been, he wouldn’t stop them from leaving, anyway. He knows that he’s a burden, he doesn’t need to drag everyone else down with him. He feels too bad doing that). And of course, no motivator to keep him going. He doesn’t even _want_ to be alive, so what’s the point? Everyone but him seems so perfectly fit to go through life. He’s just not good at living. He’s not good enough at anything. Not good enough to deserve good things. Not good enough to get good grades. Not good enough to make friends who will stay. Not good enough to get a job that could help him. Not good enough.  
He never will be, it seems. 

Hooni turns on his side, staring across his apartment. It’s dark and he can barely see anything at all. He just wants to cry, but it’s not even worth crying about. He’s too tired and too empty to cry. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, even if he wanted to. It’s not worth it.  
So he sits up and stares at his bandages for a bit, a pang of emptiness shooting inside him and his thoughts reverberating on the hollow walls of his brain and body. 

Oh, it’s all just so empty. 

His apartment, his heart, his chest, his bones. His eyes and the eyes that stare down back at him. The words he says and the things he hears. The voices that talk to him and the hands he feels that pat his shoulder or more. The stomach that he clutches, trying to gently silence its loud wailing like a mother and her child. The fridge he stares so intensely at. The bed he lays in. The ceiling above him. The kind assurances from his friends that they’re there for him. 

His life is empty. 

He doesn’t want to be here in a world so dark and cold. There’s nothing here for him, there never was, and he doubts there ever will be. But he doesn’t feel like killing himself because he’s too tired to do that right now. He just wants to sleep. So Hooni closes his eyes and tries to dream of a brighter, warmer place to call home. But all he sees behind his closed eyes is a black emptiness he knows subconsciously he is running away from. And he is only postponing the inevitable. 

Hooni wakes up in a cold sweat at five in the morning, an empty feeling in his heart and in his bones.

The day is long. 

He feels empty inside.


End file.
